


Converging

by kayo_chin



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grease, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Grease!Au, I'll update the tags as I go probably too, Westworld!AU, mostly just nozopana but other characters make appearances, soulmate!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:44:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8970127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayo_chin/pseuds/kayo_chin
Summary: I couldn't settle one a single AU for @DValkyrie's Nozopana Christmas story, so she gets three.





	1. Soulmate AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DValkyrie/gifts).



> Soulmate AU. The kind where anything you write on your skin appears on the skin of your soulmate and vice versa, because I find it interesting.  
> (there isn't a lot of it, but hover over the Japanese text for translation)

There’s a flower on her arm.  Not a real flower; this one is made of ink, childishly drawn just below the inside of her elbow. Nozomi is still fairly young – it isn’t unusual to find scribbles and simple words all across her hands and arms. She even forgets about them sometimes, coming across them as she gets ready for her bath at the end of the day and being pleasantly surprised by the tiny surprises.

However, Nozomi is 7 and-and-two-thirds now, and she is absolutely, totally, 100% sure she didn’t draw this one. For one, it’s on her _right_ arm, and she always uses her right hand when she draws.

Her mother only laughs when she shows her. “It’s your soulmate, dear.”

“Oh,” Nozomi says, and the panic leaves her instantly. Things are that simple, for a child. “Why now?”

“Maybe they’ve been there before, and you just haven’t seen them.”

“Maybe.” Nozomi runs a finger over it. The ink doesn’t smudge, even though she thinks it should. The flower now has a stem, and two wonky leaves. She’s not sure when they arrived, but she can’t help but like them. “Should I draw back?”

“You can if you want. You don’t have to. You could write, if you want.”

“I write very well,” Nozomi says, exactly the way Takahiro-sensei said it to her, with the utmost confidence.

“You do, dear,” her mother replies, already straying back to the pile of papers in front of her. Bills, maybe. Nozomi’s mother has been looking at them a lot lately.

Nozomi takes this as her queue to leave, walking quietly past her fathers’ study and back to her room, digging out her favourite purple glitter pen and sitting on the edge of her bed. She watches in awe as, moment by moment, the flower gets more and more intricate. The petals are coloured in now, dark and deep blue, and her soulmate is in the process of starting another, smaller flower in the crease of her elbow. Nozomi balances her pen awkwardly in her left hand, tracing out a shaky _hello_ just below the flowers.

The drawing stops immediately. It could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours even, time is different when you’re young, but the wait seemed an eternity before new deep blue lines found their way onto her arm.

_あ?_

“What?” Nozomi says, out loud, even though she’s alone. A few more simple characters follow it, each large and shaky, the way Nozomi used to write when she was just beginning to –

Oh.

“I’m older than you,” she says to her arm, slightly proud. “You’re probably confused. It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”

She draws a smiley face. Her soulmate draws a circle around it, then a smile of her own.

It’s a good way to start.

* * *

  _わたしのなまえわはなよです_ appears on her arm just over a year later.

_わたしのなまえわのぞみです_ she writes back, neat and large so her soulmate can understand. _よろしく。_

* * *

  _Is middle school scary?_

_A little,_ Nozomi writes, _but that might be because I don’t know anybody._

_You moved again?_

_Yeah._ _Might move again before high school._

_Not too far, okay?_ Nozomi can’t help but smile.

_Not too far, I promise._

* * *

_I got a phone!!!!_ The exclamation marks run longer than the actual sentence, curling up from the back of her hand all the way past her elbow. Nozomi picks a spot neatly in the middle to write her mail address, and doesn’t even have to wait five minutes before a message comes through.

_Subject: Hi!!!_

_Nozomi-senpai!! Now we can talk and not make a mess!_

Nozomi must have laughed out loud from the look her mother shoots her way from the kitchen table, once again surrounded by bills. She ducks her head in apology, and saves the contact.

* * *

_Subject: High School_

_Hanayo-chan,_

_It looks like I’ll be staying at this high school. I sat down with mother and father, and they agreed to let me stay in an apartment on my own if I promised to look after myself and find a part time job. They’re going ahead with the move overseas without me._

_I thought I’d be more upset about it, but I did promise I wouldn’t move too far away, didn’t I?_

_I’m glad I could keep my promise._

_I hope we meet soon._

_Nozomi_

* * *

  _Subject: RE: High School_

_Nozomi-senpai!_

_I’m glad you’re staying at a school you like! I’m sorry you aren’t with your parents anymore, though. I wish they had decided to stay with you._

_I got accepted into the high school I wanted, too! It’s not far away from home, and Rin-chan is going too! I’m a little nervous, but I can’t help but feel something good is coming, you know?_

_Maybe we’ll finally meet this year!_

_I miss you,_

_Hanayo._

* * *

 The school itself is about as large as Hanayo imagined a high school to be; it’s the population that surprises her. There’s only enough first year students to fill two classes; when the entire school gathers for the opening ceremony, they fill up just over half the auditorium. Of course, that doesn’t include the teachers sitting in a row of chairs up on the stage, or the small gathering of student council members leading the proceedings under the guide of the student council president, an intimidating blonde named Ayase-san.

“The door to the student council room is always open to anyone who needs it. First years looking to apply for student council positions should visit today for an application form.” Ayase-san spoke clearly, but from her seat in the third row back Hanayo imagined she could see the third years hands gripping the sides of the podium tightly.

Suddenly, a movement from the corner of her eye – one of the student council members had stepped forward to stand next to and a little behind Ayase-san, just close enough that the blonde third year could see her. Ayase-san’s shoulders seemed to drop their tension slightly.

This new face was softly rounded, framed by thick purple hair wrapped in twin green ties. Her eyes were cast straight ahead, seemingly at the back wall, but a tiny sparkle of mirth still shone through when, for a brief moment, she made eye contact with Hanayo.

“In the event I am unavailable, please direct your questions to our vice-president, Toujou Nozomi.” At this, the purple-haired girl bowed slightly, and stepped back into line. Hanayo could feel her cheeks burning almost painfully, dropping her head to try and hide her embarrassment behind her hair. Eyes cast downward, she couldn’t help but see the small line of text along the back of her hand, written by her soulmate earlier in the morning;

_Opening ceremony – don’t forget!_

* * *

 “Toujou-san!” The voice was high and a little squeaky, but not overly loud – calling from just outside the auditorium doorway.

“One moment!” she called, dropping her stack of chairs by the side of the stage.

“I’m sorry, can you finish putting these away for me?” She asked one of the second-year student council members with an apologetic look.

“No problem, Nozomi-senpai!” said the brunette, already trying to pull the stack of chairs towards the storage area behind the stage.

“Be careful!” Nozomi called after her, already on her way up past the rows and rows of seats to where a figure stood, a shadow in the light of the doorway. The auditorium was by no means dark, but it wasn’t lit by natural sunlight the same way the school hallways were. Stepping out in the hall, Nozomi had to shield her eyes slightly as they adjusted. “Can I help you?”

The figure seemed to fidget slightly, Nozomi squinting as she waited for her vision to catch up. It was a girl, clearly, wearing the school uniform like that, with a first year bow wrapped perfectly around her next. Her hair was short, with the way the girl ducked her head hiding most of her face. Most of what Nozomi could see of it was bright red.

“Ano, I, aah, I just wanted to…” the girl mumbled to the ground. The poor girl was clearly overwhelmed, why had she approached the third year anyway?

“You’re new this year, aren’t you?” Nozomi asked, putting on her kindest voice and smile. “Are you looking to join the student council?”

The girl shook her head so hard Nozomi was a little afraid it would fly off, before snapping into a low bow. “I’m Koizumi Hanayo! Nice to meet you!”

It felt like someone had punched the breath out of Nozomi’s lungs. “Hanayo?” she squeaked. The girl – Hanayo, raised her head without rising out of her bow, face still red and eyes wide. Nozomi’s eyes drifted downwards, past where her hair curled around her chin and down to where her hands were pressed against her legs – the tiny scrawl of writing against her wrist unmistakable. Nozomi raised her own hand slightly, enough her Hanayo’s chocolate eyes to dart to it, recognising the writing against it as a match to her own.

Those words, and something she hadn’t noticed before – that she was sure wasn’t there before the ceremony. A tiny, neatly drawn flower, perfectly centred on the back of her palm.


	2. Grease AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grease!AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an AU of an AU (specifically DValkyrie's Grease AU) which is confusing, sorry. Featuring T-Bird Hanayo and Pink Lady Nozomi. Watch as I burn this AU to the ground haha

When Hanayo is 10 years old, her brother sits her down at the kitchen table and shows her how to pick a lock.

“The most important thing is patience,” he says, twisting his hands deftly. “If you try to rush it you’ll psyche yourself out. You gotta stay cool, ok?” Hanayo nods, swinging her feet.

“Isn’t it wrong though?” she asks. “If something is locked and you don’t have the key, it doesn’t belong to you.”

Her brother laughs, chuckles really, and shows her how easily the padlock swings open under his hands. “Lockpicking ain’t illegal.” He says. “It’s only if you take what’s behind the lock that you’re committin’ a crime.” He swings the padlock shut again, and presses it into Hanayo’s tiny, pale hands.

“That said,” he leans back in his chair, vinyl squeaking, “the right thing and the legal thing aren’t always the same thing.” 

* * *

 Two months later her brother is in jail, and her mother doesn’t leave the house anymore. She can’t handle the looks from the other mothers, even in a neighbourhood like theirs, judging her and her son.

Hanayo can handle the looks. For a while, she’d react, and sometimes she’d get beat up. But if she doesn’t react – if she stays cool – they get bored and move on. She becomes very good at not being bothered by things like that. Smiling at the guys who pulled her hair. Smiling at the girls who called her brother a piece of trash.

Smiling as she pulled open their lockers, padlocks abandoned on the ground, and tipped dirt in their backpacks.

* * *

 “The right thing and the legal thing aren’t always the same thing,” her brother had said. She first sees the truth in it when she’s 13, when her and her mother are evicted.

It’s perfectly legal, what these men are doing. Going into their house and dragging out every piece of furniture, every piece of paraphernalia, everything they own. Ignoring Hanayo’s mother, crying hysterically on the doorstep. Ignoring Hanayo, crawling into the passenger seat of their truck and stealing cigarettes from the glove box.

‘It’s hardly a fair trade,’ she thinks, ‘compared to what they stole from us.’ She gives the cigarettes to Takahiro down the street, who agrees to let Hanayo and her mom sleep on his family’s couch for the night. From there they move back to her mother’s home town, where her sister lives, more than 200 miles from her old house and the prison her brother lives in now. His sentence isn’t long – his crime isn’t that serious, really, it’s mostly just to send a message to the other young delinquents that populate their town – but it’ll be difficult for him to reach them when he gets out. They have nothing now – no home and no belongings, but they’re also strangers in this new town, with no reputation to struggle under.

* * *

Hanayo smiles and giggles and rubs the tip of her toe in the dirt, charming the neighbourhood ladies and the balding man running the soda shop down the street. She’s small enough to still be seen as a cute little kid, at least until puberty hits. She plays nice with the people who play nice back. She’s not a bad kid.

She's just got her own, particular idea of what's right and what's wrong, is all.

There’s a mechanic’s a few blocks away run by two brothers. Young, to own a business together. They talk a lot about ‘giving back to the community’ and ‘honest pay for honest work’. They're fine, upstanding citizens.

Hanayo imagines there was a time where they didn’t believe in that kind of stuff. Otherwise, why would they care so much now? They reek quietly of born-again believers.

The let her hang around there after school and on weekends, let her watch them as they fix up cars and motorcycles and, once, a truck. Think they're keeping her out of trouble. Hanayo can’t help becoming a little bit fascinated. Especially once she’s meets Rin, another one of the brother’s regular visitors.

“Hey!” The redhead shouts, voice echoing around the workshop. Hanayo lifts up off the balls of her feet to peek around the hood of a broken-down 1949 Mercury, half a chocolate bar still hanging out of her mouth, spotting the shorter girl standing in the garage door with her hands on her hips. “What’s your name, kid?”

Hanayo blinks owlishly. “Koizumi. Hanayo.” She tilts her head slightly. “Kid?”

“Aren’t you a little too young to be playing hooky?” The redhead asks, stalking forward. She has all the intimidation of a kitten, but Hanayo doesn’t point it out.

“Isn’t playing hooky _for_ young people?” The redhead frowns, but doesn’t say anything else. Maybe she thinks Hanayo is funny. Maybe she’s thinking of the best place to kick her butt. “What’s your name?”

“Wha-I’m Hoshizora Rin! You seriously don’t know?” she demands. Hanayo shrugs.

“I’m new here. I don’t know anybody.”

“Oh.” Rin nods, shoulders finally relaxing. “You like cars, then? I can’t wait till I’m old enough to have one of my own, I’ll get one that’s really somethin’.” And just like that the redhead is off, leaning against the chassis and chatting like they’ve been friends forever.

At the time, it was confusing – and sometimes, Rin still is – but Hanayo can’t deny the kindness Rin did for her that day. Because becoming friends with Rin is never just _becoming friends with Rin_.

It’s becoming _in_.

Because Rin’s in a gang – and Hanayo uses the term gang loosely, since they mostly just wear matching jackets and act like hooligans at the local diner, not the kind of heavy duty life-endangering gang activity there was in her old neighbourhood – this is real suburban stuff. And Hanayo takes to it like a fish to water. She gets her T-Bird jacket a few short weeks after arriving in town, spotless and fitted specifically to her, and she wears it almost everywhere, even when the heat of the sun beats down and sweat makes it stick to her shoulders. People see her around and stop saying ‘what a nice young girl’ and _start_ saying ‘it’s those T-Birds again’.

They’re not really bad kids, though. Hooligans, maybe. The worst of their behaviour begins when Eli finally buys her first set of wheels, and suddenly they’re upgrading to street racing in the night with the troublemakers from the school one town over and hooning down the main street. Sometimes one or two of them will a knock on their family’s front door from a disgruntled police officer, but it’s never more than a warning and some ‘kids will be kids’.

They do it because it’s fun, and it’s not hurting anybody, and ‘illegal’ doesn’t always mean ‘wrong’. They never really talk about it, but Hanayo knows they’re all on the same page.

For the first time since her brother got put away, she’s got people who understand her.

* * *

 But let’s rewind a bit. A almost a year before Eli got her wheels, back when they were walking to the mom and pop diner and not cruising to the drive-in, that was when Hanayo was first introduced to the Pink Ladies.

Beautiful girls, demure in some eyes (those that aren't looking close enough), in long flowing skirts and eye-bleeding pink satin jackets, embroidered in cursive on the back; Pink Ladies. Apparently, they’d been running in similar circles to Hanayo all this time, but she’d never taken notice.

Until now, sitting in a diner booth hunkering down on a burger the size of her head, and spotting the girl with purple hair smoking outside the window.

Even the way she leaned against the wall was poised, dainty fingers holding her cigarette in the lightest grip, such that the slightest breeze might blow it away. Her eyes were hooded slightly, head tilted back as she watched the world go by, smoke slowly curling out between her pink lips. The light dances off the shine in her hair and the shine in her eyes, full of quiet mischief.

She only comes back to reality when Honoka snickers, and the tomato that _was_ in her burger flops sadly back into the basket.

“Who is that?” she asks under her breath, as if the beauty could hear her through the wall and across the way.

“Nozomi? She like, founded the Pink Ladies or something. A real wildfire, that one.” Honoka says. She takes a thoughtful sip from her chocolate milkshake.

“Stay away from that one,” Eli warns, voice low and commanding. “She’ll eat you alive, darlin’.”

* * *

Hanayo’s never been very good at following advice.

It takes four more almost meetings for her to work up the courage to actually talk to her, though. It always felt like she was walking 10 leagues above Hanayo, on another plane of existence, someone Hanayo could never reach. She didn’t even deserve to touch her. It’s the first time in years Hanayo’s struggled to keep her cool.

But even if her hello is awkward, and she trips over the smooth line she’d been practising, Nozomi laughs, and smiles with her teeth, and asks her if she’s doing anything Saturday night because there’s a new movie she’d love to go see, if Hanayo was up for it.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” she whispers and the theatre lights go down. “Since you joined up with those T-Birds. You didn’t look like their kind, at first. Wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into.”

“Really, you should have been worrying about what _I_ was getting _them_ into,” Hanayo whispers back, and Nozomi breathes out a quiet laugh. It feels like a victory.

Every moment with Nozomi feels like a victory. Over Eli, who thought Nozomi was too good for her and says so at every opportunity. Over those ladies back in her old neighbourhood, who shot looks at her mother and her and spoke under their breath about how her family would never be worth anything, would never do a single good thing. Over herself, the part she tries to ignore, that wants to believe those things they said about her.

Because how bad could she be, when she’s got Nozomi sitting next to her, leaning into her arm, tucking her chin against her shoulder? When the movie ends and neither of them want to go home yet so they stay out way too late, walking the streets and talking? When Nozomi drags her into the space between the barber shop and the 50c store and kisses her breathless, the taste of a cigarette still on her tongue?

* * *

There’s a lock on Nozomi’s bedroom window. On the outside, too, where she can’t reach it. It’s just a padlock on a sliding latch though, the kind Hanayo’s been unlocking for years, so it takes her barely seconds to open. The window slides open silently, and when she parts the curtains, Nozomi's waiting on the other side.

“What’s with that?” She asks, mounting the windowsill. She doesn't have to elaborate for Nozomi to know what she's talking about.

Nozomi shrugs. “I used to sneak out a lot. Daddy was pretty insistent I stop.” Hanayo doesn’t mention how messed up it is to literally lock your daughter in her room, but she imagines Nozomi already knows. Instead, she smiles and slings her leather jacket across the chair at Nozomi’s desk, and lets the green eyed girl pull her down across the pristine white covers. Hanayo took one of Nozomi’s hands into both her own, examining each long finger, stained with ink on the ends. She rubbed a thumb over a prominent black splotch and looked up to Nozomi’s eyes questioningly.

“I’ve been drawing again,” Nozomi answers her unspoken question. Her eyes are turned down a little, as if she's telling a secret. “I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s something I could do, after graduation.”

“Mmm, be an artist?” Hanayo asks.

“I’d like to do tattoos, if they’ll let me.”

Hanayo wraps Nozomi’s hand in her own, her other hand curling up to cup her chin. “How did I get to be with someone so cool?”

Nozomi scoffs, tilts her head to knock away Hanayo’s hand with a smirk. “Says you, hot stuff. Sneaking around after dark, breakin’ into the rooms of innocent girls.” She bats her eyelashes coyly.

“Hey now,” Hanayo grins, “lockpickin’ ain’t illegal. It’s only if I take what’s behind the lock that I’m committing a crime.” She tucks her arms around Nozomi’s waist, pulling her close, their chests crushed together. “And it ain’t stealing if it’s already mine.”


	3. Westworld AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Westworld!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't really a satisfying ending to this one, but it was getting a little out of hand and it's Christmas, so :p I have an entire extended universe for this in my head, might continue it later on if there's interest :p
> 
> Westworld (or, really, Samurai World) AU.
> 
> (yes i know samurai world is a really... interesting... name but that's canonically the name of the park ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Westworld had been running unobstructed and with massive profits for longer than Nozomi had been alive – she’d dreamed about going as a child, written essays about it in high school, and finally, mercifully, gotten a job in the behavior department after a few years of college.

Well, actually, her contract wasn’t with Westworld specifically. It was with Delos, the company that had bought it out more than 20 years ago. Nozomi didn’t really notice this distinction until she was on site, hundreds of miles from home, and staring into the face of a young woman in a Heian period kosode.

“We’re intending to open three new parks in the coming years, starting with this one,” her handler remarks. A few rooms across,  visible through panes of clear, spotless glass, two samurai practice against each other, stopping and resetting when the employee sitting nearby commands them to. They look impossibly real – like they’d stepped out of a story.

The girl in front of her is the same. Clearly designed to be a peasant, with mousy brown hair and a simple outfit designed for manual labor. She’s not offline – even a first day employee like Nozomi knows offline hosts look like they’re sleeping or dead – she’s just perfectly still, not even blinking. Nozomi finds she can’t look at it for more than a few seconds.

“Samurai world-” Nozomi almost scoffs at the name, but doesn’t, “-is the first we’ll be rolling out, in a few weeks. We’re mostly just putting the finishing touches on them, but we thought it would be important to get some hires in from Japan to help us out. We have historians and such on staff, we don’t expect you do know everything about Japan’s history of course, but I’m sure you’ll know more than some of our American born engineers.” Her handler smiles, opening the door and ushering Nozomi through. Nozomi doesn’t turn to look back at the host, even though the back of her neck tingles, like it’s eyes are on her.

“You said in your resume you were a shrine maiden in high school?” Her handler asks.

“Yes,” she replies, “it’s not all that uncommon.”

“That’s good, we can put you in with the engineers working on the shrine hosts,” her handler notes, tapping away at her handheld screen. “You’ll have a mentor helping you with the systems, and we have a team keeping the world historically accurate, so just program in behaviours you learned as a shrine maiden - it’ll help them feel real.” She says as Nozomi nods along.

They go through some paperwork, things that need to be said, bow and shake hands, and finally Nozomi is ushered out back the way she came, with altered directions to her quarters while she’s on site. She passes the peasant girl on her way back through - still frozen. It seems like someone has programmed a little bit of joy into it’s face - even still, it seems to have a tiny smile on it’s face.

* * *

The peasant girl is at her station.

“Jacob?” She queries, and her mentor looks up. He pats one of her colleagues on the back, tells him to alter the hand movement of the shrine maiden he’s working on, and makes his way towards her. His arms are folded behind his back and he seems to sway as he walks

“Yes, Toujou?"

“I thought I was working on shrine maidens?” She asks. He gives her a long, querying look. “I’ve seen this host before. She’s a peasant.” Jacob frowns.

“This early on, it’s not uncommon to see hosts repurposed several times. Someone on the Fukuhara team probably didn’t like it. Maybe someone thought it looked more like a shrine maiden. It’s here now, just, you know, give it a personality.”

“Do I keep it’s name?” Nozomi asks. There’s some preliminary behavioural programming already saved to this one - shyness, kindness, clumsiness. A name.

“If it fits.” Jacob says vaguely. He’s already halfway across the room. Nozomi turns back to the host in front of her. It’s kosode has been swapped out for a stark white kimono and red hakama, it’s short hair adorned with two small red bows. It’s smile is still the same.

“Alright,” Nozomi says, because it’s hard not to talk to yourself a little here, “let’s see what we’re working with. Hanayo, wake up.”

* * *

She can’t help but feel responsible for Hanayo. She’s played a part in the creation of many hosts, even decided the cornerstones of a few, but it’s Hanayo she feels is her pet project. Probably because she’s the only one who even seems to work on her.

She wonders about it, sometimes. Why Hanayo was moved. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. There are rumours one of the engineers became attached to her, and they had to move her because of conflict of interest. The further around the rumours go, the more Nozomi tries to forget about it.

Hanayo seems to be coming together out of Nozomi’s control. All her little quirks and ticks, her motivations, her personality. Really, she builds herself.

Nozomi turns her on for checks more often than she should.

“Ohayou,” she says. Hanayo nods her head, replies in formal, Heian period Japanese.

“Use modern Japanese, please.” She asks. Hanayo blinks once, her face blank, then repeats herself. “Ohayo gozaimasu.” And then her emotional effort is back - her head ducks shyly, her fingers curl around each other in her lap. Her eyes dart up to look at her, then back down, cheeks pink. Nozomi smiles, tries for comforting. Hanayo smiles back, just a little.

* * *

When the park is open, Nozomi’s work suddenly moves toward little fixes. Tiny errors aren’t uncommon, little behaviour ticks that need to be sussed out and fixed. A samurai who freezes every time he tries to access his betrayal narrative. A child who seems to have been accidentally given the language filter of a much older man. A maiko who punches when she should be reaching out to caress.

It’s boring, busy work. She’s bogged down from the moment she wakes up to the moment she tumbles into bed.

But she still finds the time to check Hanayo’s log. See what she’s been up to.

There’s an inordinate number of faults. Attempted deviations from her loop. She’s been flagged, a potentially broken host who might need to be taken down to cold.

She asks Jacob about it.

“It’s a matter of professional pride,” she offers, pushing herself to seem irked. “I did most of the work on this one. If it’s shelved, how does that reflect on me?” Her mentors sighs, rubbing his temples.

“I’ll have her brought down to your station. Don’t make me regret this,” he warns. Nozomi isn’t entirely sure what he’s thinking, but the old rumours spring to mind.

* * *

“What’s going on, Hanayo?” She asks, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Hanayo tilts her head, confused.

“I’m sorry?” Nozomi breathes out hard through her nose.

“Analysis.” Hanayo’s face drops into blankness, tilting slightly to the right, waiting for instruction. “Why did you deviate from your loop?”

“I don’t know.” Nozomi’s handheld flags; she’s lying. Nozomi’s heart climbs up her throat - hosts shouldn’t be able to lie in analysis mode. Maybe Hanayo really is broken.

“Hanayo,” she asks. “Talk to me.”

Without permission, Hanayo’s head turns out of analysis mode, facing Nozomi straight on.

“We talk a lot, don’t we?” Hanayo asks. Nozomi thinks the question might be rhetorical. “I remember you. Even when I know I shouldn’t. Everything tells me my time here is a dream.” She looks down. Her fingers are twisting together. It’s a tick Nozomi built in herself, something she does when she’s nervous. “Sometimes I think it’s my time at the shrine that’s the dream. That this is what’s real.” She sighs, shaky. Her eyes are wet. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“Where are you getting these thoughts from?” Nozomi asks tightly.

“There’s a voice in my head,” Hanayo answers. “It says things, sometimes. Leads me places.” Nozomi flips open her handheld again, looking through Hanayo’s maintenance history. There’s nothing, all the way back to her initiation date, that shows someone programmed her with this voice.

“What does the voice sound like?” She asks. Tries to imagine the voices of the techs with logs on Hanayo. Daichi had done maintenance on her recently, he definitely seems like the type to put his own omnipotent voice in a hosts’ head for shits and giggles.

“That’s the thing,” replies Hanayo, quietly. Her eyes are hidden behind her bangs. “It’s my voice I hear.”

Nozomi grips her handheld so hard her thumbnail cracks.

* * *

 “You can’t tell anybody what we talked about,” she says, dressing Hanayo back into her hakama. She knows why they bring them in for maintenance naked - it’s faster, and easier, and makes them feel less human - but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. “And you have to stay on your loop.”

“What does that mean?” Hanayo whispers, helping Nozomi tie her hakama in place.

“It means you have to go to the shrine. Keep acting like every day is a normal day. Lay low,” Nozomi replies, ducking her head close to Hanayo’s ear and hoping no one else picks up on their conversation.

“Will I remember you?” Hanayo asks. As if it’s the most important thing. When Nozomi turns her head upwards, the host is looking straight at her, eyebrows raised.

“You’ll remember,” Nozomi promises, “I won’t let you forget.” Hanayo seems pleased. “Act casual,” Nozomi says, and starts leading Hanayo toward the elevator. Nozomi’s station isn’t that far from the elevators, but they still pass at least a dozen technicians on their way through. It’s a miracle no one notices something weird. In her defence, Hanayo is playing the part of mindless host well - she looks straight ahead and walks without pause, steps in perfect proportion. They wait silently for the elevator to arrive, and both host and technician sigh heavily in relief when the doors slide shut.

“What happens now?” Hanayo asks.

“You go back to the shrine and I go back to work.”

“But what about after that?” Hanayo’s hands are shaking, slightly. Her shoulders are tensed. Before she even realises what’s happening Nozomi’s reaching down and wrapping Hanayo’s hand in her own. If Hanayo notices her hands are sweaty, she doesn’t say anything, just grips back tightly.

“I don’t know, Hana-chan.” She says truthfully. “Play it by ear, I guess.”


End file.
